Judge the Book by Its Cover
by Moonraykir
Summary: Tauriel finds out about Kíli's very brief, very embarrassing modeling career. Modern AU. Fluff.


"Has Kíli ever told you where he got the money for his chainmail shirt?" Fíli asked Tauriel one Saturday morning.

Tauriel took a sip of her peach mimosa and gave her brother-in-law a curious look. "No, he hasn't."

Today, as they did once a month, the family was gathered for brunch at Thorin's house. The meal had finished half an hour ago, so Fíli and his wife, Sif, along with Tauriel, had migrated to the living room. Kíli and Thorin were still the kitchen washing dishes—it was their turn this month—and Dís was talking to them.

"Hasn't he? Well!" Sif's face brightened with amused anticipation.

Tauriel knew that that gold chainmail coat was the pride of Kíli's renaissance festival and reenactment wardrobe, and she guessed it must have been expensive, but she had never asked the particulars. Obviously Kíli had saved to buy it; he didn't spend money he didn't have.

"So, where did the money come from?" Tauriel prompted.

"Go over to that bookshelf." Fíli gestured with his tea mug. "Third shelf up."

Tauriel set down her champagne flute and did as he directed, though she couldn't guess what this had to do with the answer she wanted.

Fíli continued, "You're looking for a little volume called _The Highlander's Heart_."

Tauriel scanned the shelf once, then again before she found a cheap, mass-market paperback with the Harlequin publishers imprint on the spine—not at all the sort of thing she had expected to find on Thorin's bookshelf.

She pulled the book free, glanced to the cover, and then choked. "What? Oh, stars!" And then she started giggling, so hard that her knees gave out and she collapsed on the carpet. As tears of mirth leaked over Tauriel's face, Sif shouted into the kitchen, "Kíli! I think we've broken your wife!"

A moment later, he appeared in the door, drying his hands on a towel. "What?"

"Oh, Kíli," Tauriel gasped from the floor. "You never told me!"

"Told you what?"

She gestured weakly with the book.

"Ooooh," he groaned, though Tauriel thought he was amused, rather than upset.

It took Tauriel at least another minute to regain her self-control, but then she pushed herself upright, dragged the hair out of her eyes, and took a second look at the book cover.

The obviously photoshopped image featured a shirtless Kíli in a kilt, superimposed against a stock photo of a rugged highland landscape. A soft breeze—Tauriel could envision a photo studio wind machine—just lifted his loose hair off his face and tanned shoulders while his toned (and entirely hairless) torso gleamed somewhat unnaturally. His gaze was a pensive smolder directed just aside from the camera lens. Several gold cuffs adorned his muscular arms, and he carried a drawn sword, though where he'd lost the scabbard was anyone's guess.

"I didn't know you modeled," Tauriel said as steadily as she could.

"It was a one-time gig," Kíli said. Was he flushing slightly? "My college roommate's sister is a photographer. Her model bailed at the last minute, and she called me. I wouldn't have done it, 'cept I had a plan for the cash."

Fíli snorted. "You know what that makes him? Selling himself to buy his fancy armor?" He raised his brows suggestively. Kíli rolled his eyes, obviously having heard this joke before.

"No; what?" Tauriel prompted, knowing Fíli was going to tell her anyway.

"A mail prostitute!" Fíli laughed at himself.

"Aren't you clever," Kíli said, though he was smiling slightly anyway. "What I can't stand about that photo is the kilt. I tried to tell them kilts are supposed to be worn up at the waist, but they wanted it down on my hips like that. It looks ridiculous."

"You mean sexy," Tauriel teased. "Eat your heart out, Fabio."

Kíli grinned self-consciously.

"Really, the kilt placement can be forgiven," his wife went on. "Where they really went wrong was in shaving off _every last bit_ of your magnificent chest hair."

Sif giggled. "Tauriel, you do have to admit Kíli is a bear."

"Oh, he is! A gorgeous, manly, furry bear."

"Well, I suppose they had to tone him down a bit, Tauri," Sif reasoned. "They can't sell many books if every woman who looks at the cover spontaneously combusts with desire."

Tauriel laughed. "True! So is this the only cover you're on?"

"There's one more, I'm afraid," Kíli admitted. "There's a woman with me in that one."

"Kíli! How shocking! I'm terribly jealous." Tauriel scrambled up to look for the second book.

This one, she found, was called _The Rogue Reformed_. Kíli was more fully clothed, wearing a pair of well-tailored black breeches with tall boots and a nondescriptly historical looking loose white shirt that was unfastened to expose a generous amount of his chest. A pretty young woman in a corset, her chemise tugged seductively off her shoulders, lay wilting in his arms.

"At least she's not kissing you," Tauriel teased.

"Oh, that was in the previous shot," Kíli said, his eyes twinkling. "Hence the swoon."

"Kíli!" Tauriel gave him a look of humorous disapproval.

"Poor lass; must've been utterly traumatized, then," Fíli said. "No wonder she fainted."

"Pff! Girls always swoon from pleasure when I kiss them," Kíli insisted. He put out his hand to Tauriel, and she took the cue, flinging herself into his arms.

"Kíli," she sighed melodramatically. "I can fight these feelings no longer. I must have you!"

He kissed her, tipping her back so that she lost her balance and had to cling to him. He tasted of coffee and whiskey—so _that_ was why he and Thorin always seemed to enjoy dish-washing duty so well—and he left his lips on hers a comically long time, though Tauriel found she hardly wished to complain.

When he finally broke off, Tauriel gave a long, theatrical moan. "Oh, my love, I am utterly ravished!" With sweep of her arm, she went limp. The resulting shift in her weight was just enough to unbalance Kíli; he stumbled, tripped, and they both landed in a heap on the floor.

"Tauriel! Are you all right? Taur, I'm sorry!" Kíli cried, trying unsuccessfully to move off her.

At first she could not answer, for Kíli had knocked the air from her lungs when he fell, but when she could breathe again, Tauriel began to laugh.

"Is that how it's done?" Fíli asked.

"Not usually," Kíli admitted. He was laughing, too.

Sif, who was giggling uncontrollably now, gasped, "Here, I captured it!" She held up her phone. "It can be your next novel cover: _Traumatic Love!"_ She fell off the sofa, squeaking softly, and weakly slid the phone across the carpet to Kíli and Tauriel.

Scooping it up, Tauriel found an image of herself and Kíli mid-tumble. There was a blur of arms and legs, though their alarmed faces were somehow perfectly clear.

She showed it to Kíli.

"That's us! Fifty Shades of Awkward," he said

"Oh God, no," Tauriel protested before tossing the phone to Fíli.

"Hey," put in Sif, who now was mostly recovered. "You guys _should_ do a romance photo shoot in your costumes. I bet your Instagram followers would appreciate that. You could recreate your cover art…"

"Nope," Kíli said. "I don't need any other girls swooning over me. Just my Taur."

"Kíli." Tauriel shook her head. "I think _you_ were the one swooning over me today."

"Well, you know I can't help falling for you."

She snorted. "Come here, you handsome idiot." And catching his neck, she pulled him down for another kiss.

* * *

Author's note:

This bit of nonsense was inspired by some photo edits of Fíli and Kíli as pinup dwarves in kilts. They looked like they belonged on romance novel covers. And obviously, with all the Poldark promo photos coming out these days, it was the right time to write this. :D I looked at the Harlequin website today, and gosh, it is far to easy to parody those ridiculous covers and titles!

This fic goes with my other little modern AU fic, "An Unexpected Bunny Suit." My headcanon for this universe is that Fíli and Kíli (and their wives, of course) are into costumes and historical reenactment/LARP. Of course, Kili's mail in this story is meant to be his coat from BotFA.

Because my sister played in a pipe and drum band in college, sometimes she complains to me about people wearing their kilts wrong at the renaissance faire. My only personal rule for kilt wearing is that you've got to have good legs. :p


End file.
